Kitabı oku: «Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, No. 699», sayfa 3

'Bad conduct?' I repeated interrogatively, a little curious to hear her version of the story.

'Yesterday, she conducted herself in the most disgraceful way before the committee. Afterwards she got through the window of the room in which she was confined, and ran away. Then, I suppose in consequence of not being able to find any place of refuge, she presented herself at the gates again late last night, saying that she had returned to take the punishment for what she had done, and to try to reform. Of course the true reason is, she prefers staying here until her plans are more matured, and she can leave at her own convenience.'

'May she not be sincere in her desire for reform, Mrs Gower?'

'That is perfectly hopeless. A very short residence here would teach you the hopelessness of expecting any thorough reform in such as Dean.'

'It must be very painful to you to feel that of any human creature, Mrs Gower.'

'Of course it is painful' – a trifle snappishly; 'but such knowledge as, I am sorry to say, is gained here does not increase one's faith in human nature, madam. We have to face a great many unpleasant facts, and one of them is, that such women as Nancy Dean are altogether incorrigible.'

'It must be very discouraging to think so.'

'Nothing discourages us from doing our duty.' And here Mrs Gower very decidedly touched a hand-bell on the table.

Not appearing to notice the hint, I quietly rejoined: 'But great mistakes may be made in such cases; and I hope you will excuse my saying that I think you have been mistaken with respect to Nancy Dean, and taken her incorrigibility too much for granted.'

Mrs Gower drew herself up; if she thought it possible that she could make mistakes, she was evidently not in the habit of being told that she could. It was probably all the more unpardonable from the fact that the portress, who had noiselessly obeyed her summons, heard what passed. I had not of course intended her to hear it; but she must have entered so very quickly after the bell sounded, and moved so noiselessly, that I was quite unaware of her presence, until the direction which Mrs Gower's eyes took informed me of it.

Mrs Gower's colour was a little raised, as she begged to decline any further discussion upon so painful a subject with one who evidently had had no experience, and therefore could not understand it.

'But you will, I hope, oblige me so far as to let Nancy Dean know that her friend Miss Haddon came to see her, and will come again on the first visiting day?' I pleaded, seeing that it was no use to press for an interview.

'I cannot promise anything of the kind,' loftily returned Mrs Gower. 'Dean is under discipline; and the course of treatment I adopt will entirely depend upon her conduct while under that discipline.'

'I beg' —

'I cannot promise anything.' Then somewhat irrelevantly, as it appeared to me at the moment, but as I now think, for the purpose of pointing out to me that the fault lay with Nancy Dean, and not with the system, she added, glancing for a moment towards the woman, who stood with downcast eyes, waiting for further orders: 'This is one of our successes.'

'This' appeared to my eyes but a very poor success – a very doubtful one indeed, if the low narrow brows and heavy mouth and chin expressed anything of the character. She appeared to be quite accustomed to be so alluded to, no change in her face shewing that she was in any way impressed by it. There she stood, a success, make what you choose of it, she seemed to say, eyeing us with stolid indifference. I could not help contrasting her face with that of the 'incorrigible' whom I had seen the night previously, so open and honest even in its passionate anger. Nevertheless, in my anxiety upon Nancy's account, I ventured to make an indirect appeal to 'This.'

'I am glad to hear it. Her own reformation doubtlessly makes her more desirous to help her fellow-women, and poor Nancy Dean so terribly needs a friend just now.' Then turning again towards Mrs Gower, I added: 'I trust that you will allow Nancy Dean to be informed that I called, madam?'

I think she perceived my motive for repeating the request before the woman. She very decidedly replied: 'As I informed you just now, I cannot give any promise of the kind; and Downs knows her duty. And I must remind you that my time is valuable; I have already given you more than I can spare. Good-morning, Miss Haddon. – The gate, Downs.' And with a very slight inclination of the head, Mrs Gower gave us our dismissal.

Lilian and I followed the woman to the gate, where I paused a moment, trying to gather from the expression of her face whether it would be of any avail to make a more direct appeal to her. It seemed useless to attempt it; one might as well hope to influence a wooden figure. As I stood hesitating, unwilling to go without making one more effort, I said a few words to Lilian, more to give myself time than anything else, but which served the end I had in view: 'I would give a great deal to get a message conveyed to poor Nancy.'

A new and altogether different expression dwelt for a moment in Down's eyes, fixed straight before her; an expression which suggested an idea to me that I had not had in using the words. In a moment I had my purse out of my pocket, and a half-sovereign between my fingers; taking care, as I noticed she did, to turn towards the open gate and away from the house.

Brighter and brighter grew the expression of her face as she said in a low voice: 'I might perhaps just mention to Nancy Dean that you called this morning, ma'am – if that's all you want done?'

'That is all I want you to do; just to tell her that her friend Miss Haddon called, and intends to come again next visiting day.'

'Very well, ma'am; I don't mind telling her that,' she returned, looking wooden and dull again, as her fingers closed over the money; once more the same sullen, unimpressionable woman we had at first seen, as she closed the gates upon us.

'O Mary, what a dreadful place! How could any one be expected to be better for living there!' ejaculated Lilian. 'How could they select a woman like Mrs Gower to influence her fellow-creatures!'

'There certainly appears to have been a great mistake somewhere,' I thoughtfully replied. 'So benevolent a scheme might surely be better carried out.'

I may as well state here what came to my knowledge later – respecting the Home and its management. Mrs Osborne, the founder, had commenced her work of benevolence without sufficient experience and knowledge of the class she wished to benefit. Like many other benevolent people, she believed that love was all that was needed for the work; and the lady she had at first engaged to act as superintendent was as enthusiastic and non-executive as herself. The consequences were disastrous; and it told much in Mrs Osborne's favour that she had the courage to try again. Unfortunately, in her anxiety to avoid her former error, she ran into the opposite extreme. Mrs Gower was selected from numerous other applicants on account of her having previously held office as matron of a prison, and possessing testimonials as to her special fitness for the executive department.

Accustomed to deal with the worst side of human nature, and to the enforcement of the necessarily rigid rules of prison-life, in which all must pass through one routine, Mrs Gower had become a mere disciplinarian, treating those under her charge in the Home as though their minds were all of precisely the same pattern, and that a very bad one.

If half the stories which reached me respecting her luxurious self-indulgent life were true, the effect upon those to whom she was supposed to be an example was undoubtedly bad. And if there were good grounds for the statement that her appointment to the office of prison matron had been to her a rise in life, it quite sufficiently accounted for the want of refinement in thought and habit, which occasioned her to live too luxuriously, and deck herself in too rich clothing for one living amongst women supposed to be endeavouring to strengthen themselves against yielding to temptation.

Again, good as he undoubtedly was, Mr Wyatt, upon whom Mrs Osborne depended for spiritual help, was not fitted for the task. He was too young, as well as too naturally timid and shy, to manage a number of women, who deceived him with the pretence of reformation when it suited their purpose better than openly laughing at him. Long afterwards, he told me how terribly he used to dread his visits to the Home, and how much he was troubled at the little effect of his teachings. It took him a long time to understand that the best natures might appear to be the worst under such training as Mrs Gower's.

That Mrs Osborne herself was quite satisfied with the new management, is too much to say. But although Mrs Gower was not a woman after her heart, past failures had rendered Mrs Osborne distrustful of her own judgment; and she could not deny that there at least appeared to be better effects produced now than during the former management. Although there were occasional failures, which nothing could gloss over, Mrs Gower could point to the fact that a certain number of the inmates were annually drafted into service, and whatever became of them, they did not reappear at the Home.

LIFE IN ST KILDA

SECOND PAPER

The men of St Kilda are in the habit of congregating in front of one of the houses almost every morning for the discussion of business. I called this assembly the Parliament, and, with a laugh, they adopted the name. When the subject is exciting, the members talk with loud voices and all at one time; but when the question is once settled, they work together in perfect harmony. Shall we go to catch solan-geese, or ling, or mend the boat to-day? are examples of the subjects that occupy the House. Sometimes disputes are settled by drawing lots. A system of mutual insurance has existed from time immemorial. A large number of sheep are annually lost by falling over the cliffs, and the owners are indemnified by the other members of the community, whose contributions are in proportion to the number of sheep they possess, and the consequent risk. As the calculations are all performed mentally, I think this shews no small arithmetical power. Parliament, besides being necessary to the conduct of business, has, I think, a salutary effect on the minds of the people, and helps to keep them cheerful in spite of their isolated position and excessive religious exercises. Man is a gregarious animal, and there are no people more so than the St Kildans. In work every one follows his neighbour. If one puts a new thatch on his barn, a man is to be seen on the top of every barn in the village. If the voice of praise is heard at the door of one house, all, you may be sure, are engaged in worship; and so on.

The St Kildans are remarkable for their piety. They are all members of the Free Church, and contribute somewhere about ten pounds annually to the Sustentation Fund of that body. They go three times to church on Sunday, and hold a prayer-meeting every Wednesday. They have also service on the first Tuesday of every month to return thanks for the preservation of Captain Otter and his crew, whose ship was nearly lost on the island about thirteen years ago. This was instituted at the request of the (now deceased) captain, who brought them supplies in a season of dearth, and attempted some improvements; which have all proved abortive. The minister is one who commands attention – every eye fastened on him throughout the discourse; and if any one happens to drop asleep, he or she is immediately aroused by a stinging remonstrance from the pulpit! Such, for instance, as saying in Gaelic: 'Arouse your wife, Lachlin – she won't sleep much in Tophet, I think, eh?' which causes Lachlin to poke his elbow in his wife's side immediately. The church is a miserable place, with no floor but mother earth, and with damp sticking to the walls like hoar-frost or feathers. The seats are rude benches, many of them bored and grooved by the ship-worm. Here all the women sit for about six and a half hours every Sunday with bare feet and legs, even in winter. Family worship is held in every house morning and evening; and when parties of men or women reside in the other islands they 'make their worship,' as they phrase it, just as they do at home. Every meal is preceded by a grace, nor will they take a drink of milk or water without uncovering the head.

The St Kildans are quite as industrious as they are pious. Every family has a croft of ground, which they carefully cultivate, although their method of husbandry admits of improvement. They grow oats, barley, and potatoes, all of which are planted too thickly. The ground is manured with the carcases of puffins. But there is a great waste of this valuable manure, many thousands of these birds being left after the plucking season, to rot in the island of Boreray every year! The grain is ground into meal by handmills. In the beginning of summer the rocks are scaled, and the neighbouring islets visited, for old solan-geese and eggs. They fish for ling in summer and pluck instead of clipping their sheep. The wool is spun by the women, and woven by the men into cloth and blankets, which, after providing clothes for themselves, are sold to the factor. In August they catch the young fulmars, and in September the young solan-geese. In winter the spinning-wheels and looms are busy from the dawn of day until two or three next morning. Their diligence and endurance are astonishing.

The belted plaid (the original kilt) was the dress worn by the St Kildans when Martin visited the island in 1697. Previous to that they wore sheep-skins. But leg-garments wide and open at the knees were beginning to be introduced. Now the men wear trousers and vests of coarse blue cloth with blanket shirts. On Sundays they wear jackets in addition. The brog tiondadh or turned shoe, so called because it is sewed on the wrong side and then turned inside out, was in vogue until quite recently, and specimens are still to be seen. It is made to fit either foot, and is sewed with thongs of sheep-skin. They buy the leather from the factor. The sheep-skins are still tanned by themselves with, according to my informants, a kind of bark found under the turf.

The dress of the women consists of a cotton handkerchief on the head – Turkey-red being preferred – which is tied under the chin, and a gown (made by the men) of strong blue cloth, or blue with a thin purple stripe, fastened at the breast with a large pin made from a fish-hook. The skirt is girdled below the waist with a sash of divers colours, and is worn very short, their muscular limbs being visible to near the knee. They wear neither shoes nor stockings in summer, and very seldom in winter. They go barefoot even to church, and on that occasion don a dark plaid, which is fastened with a copper brooch made from an old penny. Formerly the heads and necks of solan-geese were used by the fair sex as shoes; but these have gone out of fashion. The men too are generally to be seen without shoes. Sheep-skin caps were once common, and are yet worn by a few.

Both sexes look strong and healthy, have bright eyes, teeth like new ivory, and are capable of long-continued exertion. There are only six surnames on the island – namely Gillies, Ferguson, Macdonald, MacKinnon, MacQueen, and MacCrimmen. The average height of the men is about five feet six inches. The tallest man is five feet nine inches, the shortest four feet ten and a half. I measured twenty-one male adults. They are tough and hardy, and know nothing of the diseases which are common in other places. There is one old man of weak intellect, who is quiet and peaceable when not contradicted. He lives in a smoky thatched old hovel by himself. He has a sister afflicted with epilepsy. Another old man is blind from cataract.

The most extraordinary complaint that visits St Kilda is called the Stranger's Cold. The natives firmly believe that the arrival of a boat communicates this disease. They say that the illness is more severe when the ship or boat comes from Harris, and that they suffer less when the vessel comes from Glasgow or London. It is curious that every one caught this distemper immediately after the arrival of the smack and boat in 1876, and again on the landing of the Austrians this year. Not one St Kildan escaped. No one was ill during the intervening six or seven months. The symptoms are a severe headache, and pain and stiffness in the muscles of the jaw, a deep rough cough, discharge from the nose, and rapid pulse. But the great scourge of St Kilda is a distemper to which the infants are subject. This keeps down the population, and has prevailed for at least one hundred and twenty years. Medical men call it Tetanus and the Irish 'Nine-day fits.' Doctors differ as to the cause: some say that it arises from the mothers living on sea-fowl; others to weakening of the blood from long-continued intermarriage; some that an operation necessary at birth is not properly performed; others that the infant is smothered with peat-smoke; whilst some aver that the child is killed by improper feeding; and I am now inclined to believe that the last is the true reason. Comparatively few of the children born on the rock survive for more than a few days; they are seized with convulsions and lockjaw, and soon become exhausted. Those who escape grow up into fine men and women – sound as a general rule in mind and body; but it is a significant fact that intending mothers often go to Harris if they can, to be confined, that they may escape the curse that seems to hang over the child that is born in St Kilda.

The people of St Kilda and Harris have no great esteem for each other. Mothers in Harris threaten to send their children when naughty to St Kilda; Harris men call the St Kildans gougan (young solan-geese). The St Kildans again never mention Harris but in terms of contempt: A poor place – dirty, shabby, greedy, &c.

The St Kildans talk Gaelic, and nothing but Gaelic. The minister and a woman who is a relation of his know English as well; but both are from the mainland. All are very polite in their own way. When they meet one of a morning they lift their bonnets with the left hand, and hold out the right, and never fail to ask for one's health and how one has slept.